


The Night Dad Opened the Door

by Soquilii9



Category: Leverage
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 11:39:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6752470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soquilii9/pseuds/Soquilii9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the Low Low Price Job</p>
<p>Eliot's father opened the door that night, after all...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Dad Opened the Door

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: After hearing one of Christian Kane's comments about Eliot's backstory, I learned that Eliot's father did not reject him at the end of this episode. That was not the reason for Eliot's tears. It was because his father had died and Eliot arrived too late for the reconciliation he had hoped for.

  


**JUST OUTSIDE OKLAHOMA CITY**

Eliot Spencer steered his white F150 up the long, chain link-lined driveway and pulled up in front of the closed two-car garage. It had been one hell of a drive but for this particular trip he'd preferred driving to flying; he had a lot to think about. It was nearly dark by the time he arrived at his childhood home.

He'd brought a six-pack of Portland’s best, Bridgeport Blue Heron, as a peace offering. He glanced around as he lifted it out of the front seat. As he approached the chain link gate he exhaled nervously, preparing for the moment he would see his father again for the first time in nearly twenty years. He was careful to close the gate behind him, remembering how his mother had always nagged him not to let the dog out. Funny how habits like that stuck.

The events of the last few days played swiftly in his mind. The team had brought down a _Value!More_ store, just one location out of a national chain but one that was killing a small town. It was the best they could do under the circumstances. Eliot felt a great sense of satisfaction, however, for the little Mom-and-Pop stores in Apple Springs got a reprieve; saved from the clutches of a corporate giant, they would blossom once again. People forced out of their jobs by unscrupulous people like Caroline Cowan, Tom Halliward and Bryan-the-Bully were assured of decent employment with better wages. It had been Eliot's idea at the outset but the team had stood by him and succeeded in knocking this one giant off its feet.

And, he reminded himself, he had a dinner date with that luscious redhead, Tabatha Delavega, when he got back.

That particular job had brought the past back to him in so many ways. He'd shared a little of that past with Hardison as they monitored Nate's transmissions. Hardison could be a pain in the ass at times but he'd had sense enough not to intrude or pressure Eliot about it. He allowed Eliot to share what he wanted and let the rest go. Eliot respected him for that, and the two had bonded a little that day.

Afterward, Eliot decided it might be time to go home again. Or try, anyway. He'd read Thomas Wolfe's novel so he was under no illusions that doing so would be any comfort whatsoever. He was as prepared as he'd ever be. And older. So maybe … just maybe …

Maybe he should have called first. But then, maybe it was better _this_ way, using surprise as a tactic to disarm Dad. He'd soon find out. His spirits lifted as he came up the walk of the modest brick home. He smiled, noting that the wind-chime his Mom had hung was still there after all these years. Another set of chimes made of metal dolphins hung a little further down. There was no breeze; the chimes hung silent.

The porch supports had been freshly painted. What else was the same? What had changed? Had the years mellowed Dad? Was he still nursing a grudge after the fight they'd had the night before he left for the service? The few times he'd tried to call home after he enlisted had been rewarded by the slamming of a receiver in his ear. Twenty years … surely after all this time …

Although a small, dim porch light was on, no sounds could be heard inside. Eliot hesitated. Then he knocked three times on the metal screen door. There was no answer. He knocked again.

'Dad?' he called, softly. There was no answer.

He'd come too late.

Eliot set the beer down close to the door. He stepped away and turned his back to the house. Memories flooded back like a cascade of photographs and his eyes filled with tears, despite his best efforts. His lip quivered and his throat clenched in an effort to control the emotions that threatened to annihilate him. He was too late. A reconciliation would be impossible now. He got back home too late.

~~~

The heavy wooden door squeaked open behind him. Eliot's face registered astonishment and he dashed his hand across his eyes. He turned slowly.

His father stood in the door, a quizzical expression on his face. Eliot was taken aback; maybe it was the light or the screen door distorting his features, but the old man hardly looked any different than the last time Eliot had seen him.

'Eliot … is that you, son?'

'Yeah, Dad … it's me.'

The old man tried to open the screen door.

'Wait, Dad, there's something blocking it. Here,' he lifted the six-pack to show his father. 'Brought you a surprise.'

'Well … that's fine! That's just _fine_! Come in, son! Come in!'

Eliot was barely in the door, holding the six-pack awkwardly out of the way, when his father grabbed him in a bear hug. It was more than Eliot could have hoped for.

He entered the house and looked around. It was as if he had never left; as if to verify his memories; everything was as his mother had left it.

'Jeez, Dad, you haven't changed a thing.'

'Here, let me take that to the kitchen,' said his father, grabbing the beer from his son's hand. 'They're a little warm. We'll let 'em cool down a bit before we polish 'em off! How's that?'

'That's fine, Dad.' Eliot took off his jacket and laid it across the same sofa where his father had once caught him feeling up a date when he was sixteen. He grinned at the memory. His eyes rested on every piece of furniture, every piece of décor; the console television topped with family pictures.

'Hey, Dad?' he called to his father in the kitchen. 'You're not gonna tell me this old analog TV still works - or have you got a converter box for it?'

'Huh? Aw, I don't watch it much, anyway. News, maybe a boxing match, and you know I never miss a Sooners game. Ya hungry, son?'

Eliot came into the kitchen, running his hands through his long hair. 'Yeah.'

'I'll fix us some sandwiches.'

The old man was puttering around, setting the table with his mother's favorite Blue Delft plates, flatware, salt and pepper and the welded napkin holder Eliot had made her in shop.

'Lemme help, Dad.' Eliot washed his hands at the sink.

His father grinned at him as he tossed a head of lettuce and, in quick succession, two ripe tomatoes at his son, who caught them deftly. 'The knives are …'

'Yeah, I remember.' Eliot opened the correct drawer and extracted a paring knife. In the cupboard above, he knew, was a carving board. He flipped the knife and made quick work of washing, drying and slicing the produce.

The old man peppered Eliot with questions while he set cheese, mayo, mustard and a plate of cold cuts on the table. It wasn't like him to be so talkative, but then he hadn't seen his son in twenty years. They had a lot to catch up on.

'You're looking good, Eliot. All but the hair.'

Eliot grinned. 'So are you, Dad. You haven't aged a day.'

'Well, after your Mom died I took better care of myself. Say, how'd you get here, son?'

'Drove my truck.'

'From where?'

'Portland.'

'Oregon?! Or … surely not Maine! You're not cut out for that part of the country.'

Eliot grinned. 'No, you're right about that, Dad. Portland, Oregon. I live there now. Wet, cool … clean.'

'Mighty long drive just to come see your old man.'

'Nah,' Eliot said, shaking his head. 'Couple of days. It was worth it.'

'So tell me about yourself, son. Did'ja ever find a woman? Settle down?' The old man placed a jar of pickles and a bag of potato chips on the table.

Eliot looked at him sheepishly. His father grinned and shook his head.

'Same old Eliot.'

At this juncture, Eliot thought it best to redirect the course of the conversation. 'How've you been since Mom died?'

'Oh … like I said, taking care of myself … but other than that … making it, son. Just making it. I miss her every day. You know, she wrote you practically every day until she went. Every letter she sent was returned. It broke her heart.'

This was starting to sound more familiar.

'Dad, what can I say?' Eliot shrugged. 'I was … workin' … all over the world.'

'Doing what?'

'A lot of things. Here,' he said, placing a big platter of professionally sliced tomatoes and lettuce leaves on the table, 'let's eat something. I'm starved. Wanna spend some time with you before I have to head back out.'

His father gazed at the place where his mother used to sit, as if he was listening to her ask her own questions. 'Son …' he began.

Eliot cut him off. 'Look, Dad … let me say one thing. Just that I … look, I'm sorry. For all those years, all the … ' Eliot sighed. 'Everything I did or didn't do; I'm _sorry_. I'm clearing the air here; I want things between us to be different. I'm making my peace with you. I hope you can do the same with me.'

His father looked at him with surprise. He smiled and nodded. 'Sure, son … sure.'

Eliot smiled and relaxed. Sitting at his old place at the table, he began building his sandwich. The past was laid to rest. He could sit and visit with his father, perhaps for the last time, because he couldn't see coming back to Oklahoma any time soon.

His father reached behind him to grab two chilled beers from the fridge. He grinned at Eliot as he opened one and handed it to his son.

The two men sat on through the afternoon, even after the sandwiches were finished, chatting and remembering, laughing and drinking, never reaching far below the surface where, despite forgiveness, old hurts still dwelled in dark waters. It made for a very comfortable and very pleasant visit for both of them, one that Eliot would long cherish. His Dad was alive and had made peace with his son _before_ it was too late. That's all that mattered. That was the reason for the drive; for the effort, and it hadn't been wasted.

When it was time for Eliot to go, his father hugged him tight. Eliot's heart swelled with happiness as he climbed into the truck. The glowing white stripes vanished swiftly beneath the headlights as he headed back to Portland.

~~~

**FORT COLLINS, COLORADO**

The motel phone cut into the heaviest sleep Eliot had ever experienced, jarring his nerves, sending tingling crackles of pain through his entire body. Not one to ever spend much time in bed unless it was with a blonde or a redhead, Eliot Spencer normally slept very little. This night was a rare occasion. Exhausted by his two-day trip to Oklahoma, he'd checked into a motel on the return to Portland, polished off the Bridgeport Blue Heron and downed another six-pack from the Great Divide brewery.

Hung over, he lay groggily in bed, one arm thrown over his eyes, wrenched from a vivid dream by an early wake-up call from the desk clerk; a dream that had been so incredibly real he could still taste the ham sandwich and potato chips he had shared with his father; hear his voice and taste the beer on his tongue as the remnants of happy contentment washed over him, only to fade away.

When Eliot realized that the events after Dad opened the door had only been a dream, the tears flowed again, hard. He clenched his teeth and tangled his hands in the sheets, straining every muscle, because in the here and now, no one could see his weakness. He could release it. Exhausted, he sat up, wiping his face with the sheet. He had to shake it off, get back to Portland. It was only a fucking dream. He ran his fingers through his hair and headed for the shower.

A short time later, Eliot checked out of the motel and climbed into his truck. The last layer of brittle shell surrounding Eliot Spencer was now sealed and hardened; inside he was even more hollow than before, a damaged, dangerous individual who would channel his anger to protect Parker and Hardison to the end of his days. From this point on, there would be nothing more to fear.

 

The End


End file.
